


Sheepshead

by Honey_Thats_Rich



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-11 11:49:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19109059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honey_Thats_Rich/pseuds/Honey_Thats_Rich
Summary: Ah Racetrack Higgins: The Newsie who spends his days smoking cigars and placing bets finally catches a break and wins in more way than one.





	1. Newcomer

After the strike being settled, the Newsies were thriving. They were selling and making more than they ever had. They could even take their own days off if they so choose and today, Race decided to take a break from his afternoon circulation to go watch the races. With his increased amount of coinage Race went there with every intention of placing a higher bet than usual. 

“Heya Racetrack!” The man tending the betting counter greeted, shaking the young man’s hand. “Here to make another bet, last one you made turned out pretty well I heard.” 

“Yessir! I shoulda bet more on the last one, coulda eaten fa three weeks. So, who’s racin today?” He leans casually on the counter top. 

“The same horses, the old champ, although we do have ourselves a newcomer.” The man pulls out the roster and points to the picture on the bottom right. Racer looks at the picture of the tall, light colored horse standing next to a jockey who couldn’t have been taller than Spot Conlon. 

“This here’s Windsong, she’s young and brand new to the races, but word is she’s fast… Crazy fast.”

“You know what, sir?” Racer pulls out two dollars and 25 cents (Roughly 60 dollars in today’s money) worth in change and puts it on the desk. “I have a good feelin about this one. I’m bettin on Windsong.” 

The man wrote down the bet amount and tipped his hat. 

“You’ve got it. I wish ya the best in this race.” 

Racer tipped his hat and went to find his seat with the other Newsies he had dragged along. 

 

“Racer, tell me you didn’t bet all dat money on the newcoma?” Crutchie asked when Race told them about his bet. 

“What can I say I’s a feelin this one’ll win.” 

“Which one is he?” Jack asks looking at the horses being walked to the line up gate. 

“Numba 13.” Racer pointed to the tall, palomino colored horse approaching the gate with the small human on it’s back.

“Don’tcha know 13 is a unlucky numba-” “Yeah, an’ that has to be the smallest jockey I eva seen.” Albert and Elmer added on.

“Hey, smalla means fasta.” Racetrack swatted at them with his hat. “Now hush, da race is gonna start.” Race rubbed his hands together and leaned forward on his knees. The gate opened and the horses sprinted out, commencing the race.

 

“C’mon Windsong, you got this.” The jockey spoke, using her spanker to urge her horse forward. Within the first few strides, her and her horse had made a decent break to the front, closest to the inside of the curve, giving them an advantage. As they rounded the first bend, she used her place on the track to put some distance between her and the other riders. She smiled and panted in time with Windsong, the adrenaline of the high speeds and early lead fueling her. 

“C’mon you got it, baby!” She encouraged. On the straight, Windsong put a considerable amount of space between them and the other riders, about five horse lengths. 

 

In the stands, Racer watched with astonishment as the new racer put so much distance between themselves and the other riders in such a little amount of time. His heart began to pound in excitement at the idea that his bet was going to pay off. He had noticed on the roster that today, a lot of people had made bets, and none of them were on the newcomer. Whatever prize there was, it was going to be all his. He stood in anticipation as the horses rounded the final turn and clutched his hat, dragging it from his head and erupted in shouts when Windsong broke across the finish line, far before the other horses. He pumped the fist that was clutching his hat in the air. While Racetrack was jumping and shouting in excitement, the entirety of the spectators, including the small group of Newsies behind him sat in awestruck wonder at the fact that someone who they’d never seen before had won in such a way. Some men threw down their hats in frustration, while others raised their fists at their lost money. 

Davey stood up next to him, smiling and grasping his shoulder. 

“Guess you were right.” He said simply, having no other words. 

Race watched as the horse slowed to a trot and the rider beamed, pumping their fist in the air whilst standing in their stirrups and patting the side of their horse’s neck. 

“C’mon ya bums! Let’s go get my winnins.” Racer teasingly punched at them and climbed across the bleachers, eager to get to the betting counter. 

 

“Ah, Racer! You’ve got a lucky knack today.” The bet keeper greeted the only person coming to the desk. 

“I suppose I do.. How much did I win?” Racer confidently leaned on the counter. 

“Well, kid, everyone was bettin on the old champ Gold Rush and no one even paid attention to the new girl. Looks like you’ve won 75 dollars kid.” Racer’s mouth fell open as he was handed 75 dollars worth in ones, fives and a ten. Never had he won that much on a race. 

“Th-thank so much mista.” Race took the money and held it like it was going to disintegrate in his fingers. “See ya at the next race.” He absently tipped his hat to the man. He turned over his shoulder and showed the others his cash before they were all jumping and cheering and shaking each others shoulders. 

“And you guys said I was stupid.” Racetrack taunted, waving his cash in their face. 

“So.. What are ya gonna do with it.” 

“I, uh… I don’t know. I guess we’ll figure it out. I’m kinda rich now.” Race laughs, stowing the money in his untorn pocket.


	2. Jockey

The Newsies left the races and began to walk home, except for Racer, he wanted to stick around and see if he could see any of the horses or the Jockey’s. After putzing around for half an hour, Race decided that he, too, should go. On the way out, he tipped his cap upward to the bet keeper and exited the racetrack. As he exited the building, he looked down both sides of the streets and his eyes caught on to a small group of what looked to be jockeys. Race jumped with mild excitement an strode in their direction.

 

“Hey!” The shortest jockey shouted, reaching for the cap that was just snatched from their head. The cap got tossed around and Racer squinted to see the number 13 on the pant leg of the one reaching for the cap. The voice of 13 was higher pitched than the other jockeys and their form far slimmer. “Would you give me my cap back?” 13 spoke in frustration, jumping to try to grasp it as it was being passed to another jockey. 

“Oh yeah, what are you going to do if we don’t little girl?”

“You know, I don’t think you belong riding horses little lady.” One of the men spoke, catching her arms as she reached for her cap and holding her still. Race watched her grimace and struggle against the man’s grip. 

“Let go of me!” 

“I got somethin’ you can ride on.” Another one chimed in, grabbing ahold of her hips and pulling them flush against his own. Race intervenes.

“Hey, why don’tcha leave her alone! That’s no way to treat a lady.” Race squares up with the three men. 

“What’s it to you Newsie? Don’t you know not to stick your nose where it don’t belong?” 

Race knew he was outnumbered, almost, he looked past their group and saw a familiar face approaching and smirked to himself.

“Don’t you know who’s turf you’s on?” The men let go of the woman’s hips, but still kept a tight grip on her wrists. “You’s on Spot Conlon’s turf. He isn’t gonna like knowin that some no good bums are harassin ladies on his turf.” He watched Spot whistle subtly to a few boys who had appeared from the alley. Race pointed his cigar at them and moved closer, ready to soak them. 

“And where is this ‘Spot’? Don’t think one Newsie’s gonna be able to take us on. 

“How about seven.” Spot spoke approaching from the back. “As Race said. I don’t like anyone assaultin’ girls on my turf. Now if you know’s what’s good for you’s, you’ll leave her alone.” Spot threatened, rolling his shoulders at the men. 

“And what are you gonna do about it if we don’t.”   
Spot didn’t give a verbal answer, only a sly smirk, shrug of his shoulders, and a swift slug to the jaw, knowing the jockey off of 13. Race took it as his cue to slug the one closest to him. The Brooklyn boys, Spot and Race scared off the men and Race helped the woman up. 

 

“Are you alright, miss?” Race asked concerned as the woman brushed off her tightly fitted trousers. “I’m alright, thank you for helping me out.” 

“‘Eya Gracie, you doin alright? They didn’t get’cha too bad did they.” Spot interrupted, handing her her cap. 

“I’m alright Spot.” Gracie smiled at Spot and shook his hand. 

“I see you’s finally made it to da races. How’d ya do?” 

“Windsong got me all the way to first place.” She spoke, pulling a blue ribbon from inside her jockey coat. 

“Well congratulations.” Spot teased her, faking a bow. “I’s gotta go, but it was nice see you’s again, you too Race.” Race watched Spot leave, in awe of the friendly tone he had never heard from him before. 

“Well, before Spot interrupted me, I was saying thank you.” ‘Gracie’ smiled at Race, “I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t stepped in.” 

“Eh, Spot did more than I’s did.” 

“But at least you did something… My name’s Grace I’d like to repay you in some way”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Miss.” Race tries to humbly decline.

“Please, I insist. I’m on my way home to make lunch, I’d like for you to join me. I can take you to see my horses. It’s the least I could do.” She spoke softly, glancing upwards at Race, sweetness in her eyes. 

“Alright Gracie,” Racer smiled, “lead the way.” Racer gave her a gesture with his arm and she giggles at him. 

 

Race walked along with her through Brooklyn to her apartment and along the way they shared some small talk.

“You never told me your name?”

“Oh.. uh, sorry. My name is Racetrack. Racetrack Higgins. But, uh, you can call me Race, thats what my friends call me.”

“Racetrack, huh?” Grace smiles over at him and turns to walk up a set of steps leading into an apartment building. She opens the door and leads him in, waving at the landlord behind the desk.

 

“How’d the races go?” 

“Won first prize, sir,” she pulls out an envelope, placing it on the desk. “and enough money to pay this month’s and next month’s rent, just in case things get slow.” The man thanked her and counted up the rent, congratulating her on her win. She nodded to Race and motioned for him to follow her up 3 flights of stairs. She stopped at room 324 and unlocked her door, letting Race in. 

Race looked around in awe of the small apartment, never seeing the inside of one for himself. He quickly noticed Grace removing her shoes and did the same, then continued his staring. There weren’t many decorations, but the apartment was clean and spacious in comparison to the lodging house. The building didn’t smell of body odor and shaving cream, instead, feminine and soft. He looked down and noticed a black and white cat approaching his feet, tail up in greeting. The little cat gave a raspy meow and rubbed against his pant legs. Race took his cap off and scratched his hair so it was no longer sticking flat to his head. 

“That’s Spot, he’s friendly.” Grace called over her shoulder, hanging up her Jockey coat. Race grinned at the cat and laughed to himself at the irony of his name before reaching down and scratching him on his head. “He hardly gets to meet new people, so he gets excited when he does.” Grace spoke, admiring the affection her companion was giving to her guest. “Get down” she called when she noticed him begin to paw his way up Racer’s leg. 

“Make yourself at home. I need to go and change out of this, it’s rather uncomfortable.” Race heard her say before she disappeared behind a closing door and hung up his cap, on the post next to hers.   
With Spot close behind, not ready to give up on his newfound attention, Race stepped further into the apartment, taking a seat on a small sofa. He let out a sigh at the soft cushions beneath him and rubbed his hands against the velvety fabric. He felt guilty sitting on the clean surface in his filthy worn down clothes. He chuckled to himself when he was quickly joined by the cat, Spot, who decided to pace across his lap and rub his head against Race’s chest. Again he found himself smiling at the little cat, petting his head and watching in admiration as the little creature finally found a place to rest on his lap. 

“You know, once he falls asleep, there’s no way you’re getting back up, don’t you?” He turns his head over his shoulder at the sudden reappearance of Grace, who was now dressed in a red undershirt and dark grey over shirt, buttoned up ⅔’s of the way up tucked into a darker grey pair of trousers with the pant legs rolled up, all held together with a light grey pair of suspenders. 

“Oh I don’t mind one bit. Foist time I’s had a cat asleep on my lap before.” Race spoke softly, not wanting to disturb the animal that was quickly falling asleep under his hand. 

“Do you drink tea?” 

“I’ve never had the chance to try it..”

“Would you like to?” 

Race nods. “Thanks.”

Grace put a tea kettle on the stove, along with a skillet and another pot of water and lit the fires beneath them. She then sauntered over to the sofa and sat next to Race.

“I saw you were at the races, who’d you bet on?” Spot stretched from his spot on Race’s lap and ambled onto Graces. Race smirked to himself.

“Well, it just so happens I was the only one to bet on you.” He watched as her face lit up

“Really?” Her voice was excited.

“Yeah, I saw you’s in the picha an’ thought to m’self how smaller means fasta. You’s did an amazin job racin!” Race replicated her excitement. Grace smiles in gratitude.

“So what do you do?”

“I sells papes for The World.” 

“You do? I read about the strike in the paper and went to the city wide strike. I think I still have the paper.” Grace leaned over Spot and pulled open the drawer on the coffee table and rummaged around. 

“Here it is.” She pulled out the paper and looked over the front page picture. “That’s you isn’t it?” She pointed at his smiling face in the picture.

“Yeah, that’s me!” 

“That was really brave of you all to go against Mr. Pulitzer like that.”

 

After some time, Grace got up to begin cooking. 

“So, uh, how do you know Spot Conlon?” Racer asked, leaning on the counter top out of her way as she poured the cups of tea. She chuckled

“Ah, Mr. King of Brooklyn.” She teased. “Spot and I have known each other for years, helping each other out. I met him I think six years ago when I lived with my parents, I was on my fire escape facing the alley and saw him rummaging for food. Since my father wasn’t home, I invited him in for dinner. He hadn’t eaten in a week. So, during the week, when we knew my father wouldn’t be home, we invited him in for dinner and he slept in my room. When our roles reversed, he helped me out until I found work at the stables. We’ve been back and forth helping each other for years.” Grace took a sip of her tea, as the cup had finally cooled down enough. 

“Wow, I never knew that about Spot.” Race copied Grace and took a drink out of his cup. He scrunched his face, but quickly tried to hide the fact when he noticed Grace looking at him through her eyelashes. When he continued to try to drink it she found herself giggling at his attempt to be polite.

“You don’t have to drink it, Race.” She said as if it were the most obvious thing and Race blushed.


End file.
